


Maybe we're crazy

by Lyrae



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Canon Divergence - The Great Game, Canon Divergence - The Reichenbach Fall, Episode: s01e03 The Great Game, M/M, Secret Identity, Songfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-14
Updated: 2020-03-14
Packaged: 2021-03-01 04:28:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,263
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23139232
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lyrae/pseuds/Lyrae
Summary: Crazy- Gnarls BarkleyJim meets Sherlock in St Bart's lab, but not as Jim from IT, Molly's boyfriend… No, as James Armority, maths professor and classmate of one Carl Powers.How could Sherlock be anything be interested?
Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/James Moriarty, Sherlock Holmes/Jim Moriarty
Comments: 6
Kudos: 43





	Maybe we're crazy

The dark haired man lazily leaned back into his sun lounger, twirling his drink before taking a sip, watching as the sun slowly fell from the sky until it wasn't more than a small, luminous curve above the sea.

The previous melody came to an end, and familiar notes came from the radio set, echoing into the dusk.

_I remember when_

James Moriarty was ten, short and scrawny, sharp and cheeky, the kind of boy you either loved from afar or hated with a burning passion.

Carl Powers was from the latter group unfortunately, being all of the other's contrary, tall and muscular, dull and popular, the kind of boy that loathed anything he didn't understand, and yet understood very little, the type to crush a butterfly wings between his fingers when the insect refused to fly along his orders. 

Something was bound to happen at some point, there was no way to keep such drastically opposed people near one another for so long without any consequences after all, and yet, no one moved a finger to stop everything from falling over the edge. 

Jim didn't care much about Carl, he was a bully but he was also stupid and the smaller knew better than to let anyone get to him, so he simply glided through life like he always did, slipping between his fingers and evading the other like a vaporous wreath. 

Carl, conversely, cared very much about Jim, and more particularly about the amount of pain he could cause him. 

It wasn't meant to go as far as it did, he was just supposed to hold him underwater for a bit, make the freak finally understand his place, so when the other had first fought his grip, he hadn't relented, neither had he let go when the smaller boy had finally gone limp. 

One might have thought that a student would have been expelled after being found keeping his half drowned camarade at the bottom of the pool, but Powers was the swimming champion, the school's pride, and so he stayed unbothered as one James Moriarty was brought back to life with difficulty. 

He woke up, safe and sound, alone and downed, yet burning with something that hadn't been there before, set ablaze by a dark inferno. 

For the first time, James Moriarty hated, loathed and abhorred. 

_I remember, I remember when I lost my mind_

It was sweet in a way, how the hatred constricted his chest, how the always unperturbed boy was violently brought down to earth, among the ordinary people, and immediately endeavored to burn the world that had tried to drown him. 

Surely, it was even more beautiful how the poison stopped Carl's heart in his chest, how he died with agony etched on his face, how everyone screamed and cried while Jim silently watched. 

_There was something so pleasant about that place_

The trip to London was cut short and they all had to go back to their little school, a certain boy coming back inside a coffin, but somehow, even when the shoes had disappeared, no one even thought of investigating Carl's death more thoroughly.

 _'It was an accident, he simply had a fit in the water, those kinds of things happen, they are tragic, of course they are, but they happen. '_ stated the police officer that came to the school, dull eyes trying to appear calm, hoping that his stupidity would pass for gloominess, and somehow it did, somehow no one wondered after that simple statement, somehow the Powers' case was closed and it was too _EASY_.

 _'It was a murder! '_ Jim himself wanted to shout, to yell, to scream at the top of his lungs so as to force everyone to wake up and face the truth.

_'It was a murder. '_

That single sentence repeated endlessly in his mind, at first he had found the words sweet, comforting, he was the only one to breathe them out in the dead of the night, and he knew it, but quickly they turned stifling, suffocating, trying to drown him like he had drowned Carl.

It was the realisation that dit it mostly, the understanding that he truly was alone, that no one would ever discover what had happened and why, that no one would ever comprehend Jim enough to realise what had really happened. 

"It was a murder! " screamed a voice, and it took him a second to realise it wasn't his own.

_Even your emotions have an echo in so much space_

It wasn't, somehow it wasn't, it was a tall boy with dark curls and lanky limbs, pale and keen, weird and lean, strolling inside the school like he belonged there before standing in the middle of the cafeteria and shooting his accusations.

Jim wished more anything he had his name, that name he couldn't help but try to guess, doodling sharp eyes and cutting cheekbones in the corners of his textbooks, reverently turning the memory around in his head until he wasn't even sure whether or not the other had even been real.

The only proof of his existence after that afternoon had been the letters published into the newspapers for two weeks before they had been brutally stopped by the police and the school.

_And when you're out there, without care_

_Yeah I was out of touch_

Jim let himself drift after that event, watching from afar as he graduated and went to London in order to study, easily getting a scholarship to study mathematics and astronomy.

He floated idly in society, blending into the groups like a chameleon, smiling when he needed to, laughing, living, but not really experiencing the world around him, not really reaching, thinking, thinking, always thinking, endless scenarios twirling inside his mind, equations and schematics, staying cold and apathetic, knowing he would never fit in as much as he acted like he did.

Everything was easy, so easy, his thoughts gnawed at his mind, his psyche slowly turning on itself and eating his sanity away, until Jim was an empty husk, his daydreams filled with the face of that boy, that child that had come into his life years ago, changed everything and then disappeared like a hurricane.

_But it wasn't because I didn't know enough_

_I just knew too much_

It was painful to live this way, longing for those kaleidoscope eyes, yearning for the sight of those dark curls bouncing around that pale face, seeing him everywhere and nowhere at once, searching for that shining beacon of intelligence without even knowing his name.

It was surprisingly hard to find someone with only a description, but the odds grew once one turned to the criminal side of society...

James Moriarty didn't choose a life of crime for any other reason than finding the other.

_Does that make me crazy?_

And it was easy, like everything he had ever done, easy to slip into this new persona, easy to act, easy to hide behind a screen and a name.

People soon learned to fear M even without hearing his voice or seeing his face.

M was everywhere and everyone, no one could hide anything from him since he knew everything, there was no use even going against him so most people asked for his help and his network grew, expended and continued to stretch, tiny strands joining his web one by one until it covered the entire world. 

_Does that make me crazy?_

He didn't care for it, not one bit, but an empire did make finding someone an easier task... 

And found him he did. 

_Does that make me crazy?_

Sherlock Holmes, William Sherlock Scott Holmes, older, sharper, and everything Jim had ever dreamed of, special, extraordinary, a consulting detective.

He laughed when he learned that name, he started with a quiet chuckle and he finished rolling on the floor, holding his ribs and desperately trying to stifle the manic mirth.

_Consulting detective._

_Consulting criminal._

His throat burned but as he looked at the photo once more, at the scowling face of the boy he had searched for so long, he couldn't help but laugh.

_Possibly_

Sherlock Holmes was pursuing cases like Jim had chased him, searching for adrenaline, yearning for the intellectual stimulation they provided, and so Jim provided, throwing millions away without a second thought if it meant having the detective's attention for a moment.

_And I hope that you are having the time of your life_

The detective didn't disappoint, he didn't think he would ever be disappointed by the other anyway, but the way he solved his little puzzles easily, the way he jumped from one deduction to the other, soared into skies ordinary people couldn't even fathom, was the most mesmerizing thing he had ever seen.

Sherlock was completely in his element amidst the crimes the criminal created for him, exhilarated like he had never been before, finally finding an opponent able to match him.

And then, he decided that wasn't enough, that Jim wasn't enough, and he picked up his little pet.

John Watson. 

_But think twice_

He knew he shouldn't be holding that against the detective, he didn't seem to have realised yet that all of his best cases came from the same man, but still, actually befriending an ordinary human, lowering himself, even explaining his deductions to the other? 

Jim hated John Watson, hated the way the doctor affected the man that should rightfully be his, but for the first time, he also found himself hating Sherlock Holmes.

His world had always been Sherlock,his entire universe changing, twisting to fit the boy he had seen during a brief moment when he was a child, and yet, the other didn't even know he existed, didn't even know he had a matching piece of his soul waiting for him, watching and craving.

_That's my only advice_

Jeff Hope was the perfect cannon fodder for his little experiment, expandable, dying and with nothing to lose.

_-If you hurt him, I will find your children, find your ex-wife and all of your pitiful family to disembowel them in front of you-M_

The man had seemed to understand the message, but apparently, he had been too thick to truly get it...

Of course, Sherlock had never been in any real danger, snipers had been placed all around the building and had been ready to shoot at a moment notice, but still, James Moriarty had never been a lenient man.

Jeff Hope's family died with him, and the criminal wished it had been Watson's innards decorating the walls instead.

_Come on now, who do you_

_Who do you, who do you_

_Who do you think you are?_

Jim didn't really think he would ever meet Sherlock before, the other had always been a dream, a vaporous vision that would disappear between his fingers if he tried to catch it, but the whole "Study in Pink" as the doctor called it on his blog, had made him realise that the detective was in fact a living, breathing human.

It shouldn't have been shocking but it still was, like discovering that fairytales were real, learning that dragons existed, Sherlock had gained a mythical status with the years and John Watson had brought him down to Jim's level with a simple text on a website.

Sherlock Holmes was as human as the criminal was, not as ordinary people were since the other was as far from ordinary as one could be, but in a moment, this impassable chasm, this wide void between them had been closed.

But now that he knew it was possible, why wouldn't he meet the detective himself? 

_Ha ha ha, bless your soul_

At first, he had thought of flirting with Molly Hooper, dating her and then meeting Sherlock Holmes through her...

But why would the other care about Jim from IT, Molly's gay boyfriend when he acted like he didn't care about the pathologist herself most day? 

Nonono, the criminal wanted to make an impression on Sherlock like the other had made an impression on him when he had stormed in and out of his life all these years ago.

He wanted the detective to deliberately go to him, to be intrigued like Jim had been, to discover just how alike they were, and then to choose HIM. 

So he twisted his plan, gave up on the boyfriend part but still decided to pass by Molly to get to Sherlock.

It was maybe even easier somehow, the poor woman seemed desperate for company and she was pining so much over the other that she wouldn't even have really noticed Jim if he had flirted with her.

He just had to be nice, watch Glee with her and offer his support, and he had gained one of his most loyal asset.

She didn't know about the whole criminal part of course, but Molly Hooper would do everything in her power to help her friend, James, the quiet maths professor. 

Asking to meet Sherlock wasn't really that much of a demand after that, he just told her he was a fan and she was practically walking over her feet to introduce him.

_You really think you're in control?_

Here he was, hunched over his microscope, trying to trace the pollen from the mud.

Jim left it on purpose so he knew just what Sherlock would find on the shoes, all of the little hints, the tiny clues, everything linking the shoes back to-

"Carl Powers."

The detective's head snapped to the side, his eyes focusing on him, and Jim felt like he was touching paradise.

"How do you know that name? " he almost snarled, getting up so quickly he almost made the microscope fall down.

The criminal had entered the room quietly, acting like he didn't want to disturb anybody and just get Molly's attention, but then he had spoken softly, knowing the name would catch Sherlock's attention.

The pathologist and the doctor seemed a bit lost but neither of the consultants paid them any mind.

"We were in the same class, not a lot of great memories but are you investigating his death? I always found it quite fishy..." 

"You were in the same class as the victim?! But you must be at least thirty! " Watson spluttered, getting completely ignored by the rest of the room.

Sherlock seemed stunned for a moment, his eyes widening ever so slightly before sharpening once more.

"And you recognised those trainers just like that? " he asked, his voice laced with suspicion.

Jim fought to keep the chuckle inside his mouth, the laughter inside his throat and simply smiled wryly. 

"You do tend to remember shoes that disappear magically... I never understood how anyone could believe it was an accident when they had vanished, but no one listened to kids anyway." 

_Didn't they? Didn't they?_

He scrutinized the detective's expression and maybe it was the longing for someone that understood, that craving that he hadn't quite satisfied all those years ago when bo one had believed him, but Jim knew the other was hooked.

_Well_

"Tell me more." Sherlock practically hissed.

 _'Tell me everything.'_ he meant, and so Jim obliged.

They only spoke of Carl Powers at first, the detective quickly guessing about the exema part and then following with a deduction about the nature of the poison, but after that, they left the ordinary boy and his tragic death behind, the conversation subjects shifting until the criminal was talking about his fake identify.

 _'Who are you?_ ' Sherlock asked with all of his actions, and once more, Jim provided

"James Armority." he lied smoothly.

Armority. 

_Moriarty_.

A simple anagram, obvious, evident, so easy that it was too much of an hint for the detective to even consider. 

Sherlock always wanted everything to be clever, so Jim did the complete opposite, left glaring clues in the way he acted, barely concealed hints in his words, he made everything so easy that the detective didn't even think of it. 

_I think you're crazy_

At some point, the doctor and the pathologist had left the room, leaving the two consultants to their conversation, but neither saw the hours passing by until Watson was running inside, a panicked look on his face. 

"Sherlock, the hostage! "

Oh. 

Yes. 

The hostage, the puzzles... 

_The game_.

Sherlock took out the pink phone, frowning when he saw he hadn't received any new call. 

"The time is up, I would have thought Moriarty would have started gloating by now..."

And he didn't even try to act like the possible death of the hostage affected him he simply looked thoughtful and slightly curious, his eyes rapidly glancing between the phone and the trainers. 

The criminal stayed silent, new plans etching in his mind, discreetly maneuvering his hand behind his back, quickly typing on his phone. 

He knew the device by heart, so there was nothing easier than navigating it without seeing the screen, sending a text to his men in charge of the hostage.

- _The game is off-M_

_I think you're crazy_

A few minutes later, a ping echoed in the room, drawing everyone's attention to Sherlock's real phone.

- _I don't know how you did it but the hostage was just freed and dumped, bomb-free, in the middle of London! -GL_

"Who is it? What does it say? Is it Moriarty? " John asked in a rapid succession, his brows furrowing at the other's lack of answer.

The detective, however, stayed silent, his eyes still glued on his screen.

Right at the same time as Lestrade's text, another message had been received by his phone. 

- _Disappointing, the game is off. -M_

_I think you're crazy_

No one seemed to notice it, but Jim could see it as clearly as if it had been written in the air, the annoyance in Sherlock's eyes, the way his lips curled downward for a microsecond, the incomprehension and righteous offense permeating his very being.

It must be crushing to know you disappointed your first real opponent, mustn't it? 

But Jim wasn't disappointed, far from it, in fact, he couldn't have been farther from disappointed. 

_Just like me_

James Moriarty was entranced, completely mesmerized, but if he wanted Sherlock Holmes, the M part of his name would have to go for now, he would need to be James Armority, mathematics teacher in a small university of London, never giving class and preferring instead to write complex papers on the dynamics of an asteroid.

_My heroes had the heart_

Taking care of John Watson was surprisingly easy.

He simply attributed one of his best agents, Mary Morstan, the task of befriending the good doctor, and suddenly, he was moving out of 221b.

The criminal hadn't anticipated that the woman would really want to settle with Sherlock's pet, and that for some reason, she would fall in love with him, but somehow she did and it seemed like Johnny boy reciprocated her feelings.

Jim acted like he wasn't aware of that fact that 221b now had an empty room and dropped casual mention of his own situation, a carefully crafted lie involving his landlord selling his apartment to his niece and evicting him, until Sherlock finally invited him.

"You know, your clues were dreadfully obvious. " the other said drily as he watched him take his clothes to his new room.

The criminal smirked, knowing very well just how many glaringly evident hints Sherlock was missing simply because they were too simple.

_To lose their lives out on a limb_

His roommate had suits that costed more than the annual rent of the flat? 

Of course he wasn't lying when he said it was a gift from an obscure relative, why would he? 

He was always typing mysterious things on his phone and was out very often in the middle of the night? 

Well, so was the detective so it wasn't like he seemed to notice anything unusual. 

The crimes in London seemed less and less organised as Jim spent more time with Sherlock? 

Obviously, it was only a strange coincidence, correlation did not imply causation afterall. 

_And all I remember, is thinking_

His web was falling apart around him, strands dissociating from the whole and drifting into the air, but the criminal couldn't bring himself to care.

He had created his criminal empire with only one goal in mind, finding Sherlock, and now that it was accomplished, he couldn't bother himself with it anymore.

As long as he was with the other, there was no boredom left to alleviate, no eternities spent trying to stifle the dark things in his mind, no apathy slowly eating away his thoughts.

The other brought colors to his world, but just like when he had been a child, Jim couldn't help but want Sherlock to choose him, really choose him like he had chosen the other.

_I wanna be like them_

Would he run away with him? 

Give up London for him? 

What would he do if he knew? 

He needed the answer to all of these questions, so he designed a plan, the perfect scheme, that tiny push that would definitely send Sherlock to his side.

_Mmhmm ever since I was little_

And there were thoughts of Richard Brook, Reichenbach, visions of finally putting himself face to face with the other and revealing his identity, but now wasn't the time, not now.

_Ever since I was little it looked like fun_

Destroying Sherlock's reputation was ridiculously easy, a few well placed words here, a few gossips there, and it was done, the police was trying to arrest him, newspapers were slandering his name, everyone was fighting to get a piece of Sherlock Holmes, and in the midst of it all, they stood, together and alone, alone and together, two pillars in the eye of a hurricane. 

No...

Not really.

A hurricane and a pillar, a pillar and a hurricane, but Jim wouldn't have been able to tell who was which, if he was the tempest destroying the other's life or if the detective had been the one to annihilate his sanity.

_And it's no coincidence I've come_

John Watson had tried to help but he couldn't do much so it was just the two of them now, running around London, trying to clear Sherlock's name, and still the detective didn't know, he didn't have the slightest idea of who was hustling at his side. 

_-It's been a while Sherlock Holmes... Come play, St Bart's rooftop-M_

The detective was surprised when his phone chimed, and his face immediately became blank when he read the text.

"I have to go. " he simply said, grabbing his coat as he stood up.

James didn't ask, didn't say anything else simply because there was nothing else to say. 

_Not now._

Sherlock called John, wanting to talk to the other a last time before meeting his nemesis, and the criminal hurried out of the flat and into the hospital, climbing up the stairs.

He sat on the rooftops' edges, waiting, biding, focusing on the familiar melody coming out of his phone.

_And I can die when I'm done_

The detective arrived and he stopped the song.

"Hello Sherlock. "

The man stilled, froze up, his eyes flying over his friend. 

Sharp suit, slicked back hair, his usual look paired with a small smile. 

"Moriarty." he breathed out.

"James." the other immediately corrected.

They stood, silent, voiceless, and then Jim extended his hand, holding out the appendage like an invitation, a promise, an unspoken possibility.

_'Choose me'_

The detective didn't say anything, didn't move, and so he slowly lowered his hand back to his pocket, excruciatingly slowly.

_But maybe I'm crazy_

They stood face to face once more, alone on the rooftop and Jim looked away, unsettled by the enduring silence.

"Do you think I'm crazy? "

Sherlock blinked, taken aback by the question, before answering like it was the most obvious thing in the world:

"Aren't we all? "

 _'Of course you are, but so am I._ ' he meant, and the criminal smiled. 

"Choose me. " he said, stating and pleading all at once. 

A pause, a silence. 

"Moriarty? "

Jim shook his head, extending his hand once more, the fingers outstretched.

"Me. "

The other could either take his hand and leave London at his side, giving up his crumbling career, or choose his old life and exit the rooftop by jumping down. 

_'Falling is just like flying except there's a more permanent destination. '_

It wasn't much of a choice anyway, but the detective still smiled as he took his hand. 

_Maybe you're crazy_

"Where to? " he then asked like that mattered. 

_Where to, what next, who cared?_

Jim hummed softly, fragments of the song coming to his mind. 

"Wherever you want Sherlock."

_Maybe we're crazy_

And so they left London behind, hand in hand, told John they would just get away until things calmed down, told Mycroft to mind his own business, and took the first plane to the rest of their lives. 

It was everything he had imagined, everything the last few months in London had been but somehow so much more now that Sherlock knew who he really was.

They played around the world, exchanged puzzles and clever riddles, they lived like they had never lived, dashing from one country to another.

_Probably ooh hmm_

James Moriarty lazily leaned back into his sun lounger, twirling his drink before taking a sip, watching as the dying sun reflected in Sherlock's kaleidoscope eyes. 

Inside their current house, coming from the radio post, the familiar melody slowly died, the last notes drifting into the twilight as he smiled.


End file.
